


A Fine Night For It.

by Darling_Jack



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Dutch is an idiot, Hurt No Comfort, Nightfolk - Freeform, Protective Arthur, Stabbing, dutch whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Jack/pseuds/Darling_Jack
Summary: Arthur tried to warn him- strange and hideous beasts lurk the bayou after nightfall, and they really, really shouldn't go in there. But Dutch never did listen, did he?
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	A Fine Night For It.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crazyhotsoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyhotsoup/gifts).



> TW: Blood and Nightfolk

This was a stupid idea.

A damn stupid one.

Perhaps the worst either of them had had in all these twenty-odd years, and Arthur had once agreed to wrestle an angry gator for pocket change, just to prove a point. Of course he had been drunk then, but that didn’t matter much.

The point was; when did Dutch ever listen to him?

Ideas above his station, Dutch would say, wrapped in threadbare assurances that he knew what he was doing. Arthur couldn’t argue with that; literally couldn’t, as Dutch would readily shut down any protest, any criticism, any dissent, without hesitation. He’d offer a dismissive wave of his hand, again repeating that he had a plan, that Arthur needed faith, and when Arthur reached his age and had more experience under his belt, he’d understand.

“You only got me by six years,” he growled, nervously adjusting his hat, pushing it back so he could better see from under the brim. Trees thick with moss surrounded them, a cacophony of chirps and squeaks and other ungodly sounds drowned out the heavy hoofbeats as they hurried along the winding path. As if to make things worse, a heavy fog had rolled in, and he could barely make out the rider in front of him, if not for the lantern that swung from The Count’s saddle.

“Clearly them six years makes a hell of a difference. Look at you! Damn near pissin your pants over a couple’a fireflies.”

But Dutch hadn’t seen what Arthur had seen. He didn’t know. How could he? All sat safe in his tent while Arthur had traveled these paths. He had heard enough stories from the locals, had seen it with his own goddamned eyes-- traversing the bayou after dark was a death sentence. He’d warned as much before they left Van Horn. But again, Dutch wouldn’t listen, far more keen on making it back to Rhodes to meet with the sheriff on time.

“You worry too much,” Dutch huffed, “Ain’t nothin out here ‘sides a few little snakes. Maybe another gator, if you're so keen on huggin one again.” The last part said in cruel jest. He didn't have a response.

So instead, as he had grown used to, Arthur kept his mouth shut, his hand tight on his gun, and his eyes scanning for threats in the murky darkness of the swamp as they trekked through. He kept a keen eye on the horses; they’d pick up on the slightest hint of danger first. Instead, it was Dutch who snapped his head towards the swamp, drawing The Count to a sharp halt.

“The hell is you doing?” Arthur hissed, reigning his own horse in. Riding through the swamps was bad enough; stopping was damn near moronic.

Dutch quieted him sharply, “You hear that?”

Arthur swallowed thickly, heart thundering in his throat. He strained his ears against the silence of the swamp; on nights like these, even the critters were silent and still. Sure enough, a muffled sob echoed from deep within the dense treeline. Adrenaline flooded Arthur’s system; he was gripped in momentary panic, raw and sharp. He reached out, latching onto his arm, fingers dug tight into flesh.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.

“Don’t be a fool, Arthur. Someone might be hurt,” Dutch pulled away roughly.

“These swamps is dangerous Dutch, I don’t—”

More crying; wailing. Drowning out his response. The sob, truly riddled with despair and grief, and decidedly feminine.

“Does that sound dangerous to you?” Dutch barked, “We ain’t just gonna leave her.”

“Dutch," Arthur warned quietly, one hand wrapped tightly about his gun. Dutch shook him off, weaving his steed towards the sound. Arthur watched, near horrified as he took The Count closer, the fool actually dismounting as he came near a cluster of trees. His charm polluting the air as he cooed softly, as though talking to a wounded animal. But Arthur had seen plenty of wounded game. And this didn't feel right. Pinpricks of fear needling him, a shiver racing through his core. Dutch, as ever, was adamant on being the shining knight in armor. Ready to rescue any damsel in distress.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you all right?” he called out, squinting at a huddled form in the distance, “Miss!”

“Dutch, this ain’t right-”

“Leaving a lady on her own in the middle of the fucking swamp ain’t right.”

“Dutch-”

“Miss!”

Arthur had seen men devoured by gators before. Slow and hefty though they were, he had witnessed first hand the lightning-quick reflexes that would allow them to grab a man and drag him into the muck before he even knew what hit him. Biding their time, he figured, waiting for the moment to strike. God, he hated gators.  
It was with a similar blinding speed, a similar thirst for blood, a similar hunger, that the woman, inconsolable in one moment, lunged at Dutch with a feral cry. Arthur hardly had time to react, stricken with raw fear and pounding with adrenaline, as her compatriots poured from the thick briars.

“Damn it!” he hollered, swiftly putting them down as they appeared, wielding butcher knives and machetes, eerily silent in a way that would stick in his dreams for years to come.

He barely heard the single shot that came from Dutch’s schofield, too consumed by panic, his ears thrumming with his heartbeat.

“Son of a bitch!” Arthur roared, emptying his revolver into what he hoped was the last of the bastards; he had no way to be sure, and his skin itched with the fraying desire to get as far away from these damn swamps as fast he could. He felt eyes fall upon him from every direction, and it was all he could do to maintain his composure as well as he had.

He hadn’t even noticed that Dutch was still on the ground, chest heaving.

“We best get movin’, lord only knows how many more of those freaks is out there,” finally, he turned, his pulse still thundering, “C’mon, let’s get gone. Goddamned Nightfolk- I done _told_ you these swamps weren’t nothin but trouble.”

“G-guess you was right,” Dutch groaned weakly, “Shit…”

The weakness and tremor in his voice caught Arthur’s attention in the worst kind of way. Dutch was curled in the mud, hands wrapped tight around his midsection; desperate, pale. Arthur’s heart damn near stopped at the sight; even in the silvery light of the moon it was clear that Dutch was white as a sheet.

“Shit… _Shit!”_

“Damn bitch got me good,” Dutch chuckled, not daring to peel his eyes away from Arthur. His breath came shallow and quick, the gash in his stomach more numb than anything; probably not a great sign, he realized.

“I-I got you Dutch, you’re gonna… I’ll… we’ll get you to a doc, don’t you worry,” Arthur fell to his knees at Dutch’s side, pressing his bandana into the gash. The fabric soaked through worryingly quick.

They shared a single, fleeting look; one of panic, one that left them both feeling wholly lost. Wholly unsure, wholly frantic, and desperate, and terrified, and that look between them set neither at ease. Arthur’s hands pressed tighter over Dutch’s. His mind frothed and surged with fruitless thoughts.

“S-shoulda… I ought to have… listened,” Dutch admitted quietly.

His skin chilled beneath Arthur’s; he leaned heavily into the younger man’s touch.

“Don’t—” Arthur hissed, “Don’t you even— Gonna… just gotta get you back to Hosea, he’ll patch you up fine.”

Arthur had nothing; he whistled for his horse, the beast hesitant to draw in close. He knew it was fruitless anyhow; he hadn’t restocked his kit. At best, he had half a roll of bandages on hand. Hardly enough to staunch the heavy flow of blood from Dutch’s midsection. He grabbed a spare shirt and buried it in Dutch’s wound; much like the bandana, that, too, saturated too quickly. Arthur’s arms were slick clean to the elbow. He was silently thankful for the oppressively dark night; he couldn’t make out much beyond the darkness pooling beneath them. Too quick. Too quick. Too quick

Dutch was dying.

Dutch was dying, and Arthur could think of nothing to stem the blackened flow from his gut. His ears buzzed. They weren’t safe here. They needed to get out of the swamps, to find their way back to camp or- or to Saint Denis, to a doctor— but he couldn’t very well move the man, not like this, not without jostling the wound carved into his stomach and further injuring him.

“Son…” Dutch gripped Arthur’s hand as tight as he could manage; that thought alone, the weakness of Dutch’s grasp, only furthered Arthur’s panic. Dutch swallowed thickly, “You… shit— you s-see to it folk are okay.”

“Don’t you start talkin’ like that. Gonna get you all patched up, just… just—” Arthur set his jaw, “Work with me.”

Dutch bit back a cry of agony as Arthur hefted him off the ground, one arm under his shoulders and the other pressed against Dutch’s wound. He pushed the man onto his horse’s saddle, pulling himself up behind him. Without another word, Arthur dug his heels hard into his steed’s sides, spurring onwards— to where, he wasn’t yet sure.

“Hang on, Dutch,” he growled, feeling the man sag against him as they wove through the swamps, “Don’t you go quttin’ just yet.”

The sickly warmth of Dutch’s blood seeping fast through the makeshift bandage left Arthur roiling, churning with nausea and gut-wrenching fear. He muttered reassurances all the way into Saint Denis, urging the man to stay awake, but Dutch heard none of them.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick request that took way longer than expected! This one's for you, kid! Hope you like it! ♡♡♡


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